


New Life

by therapychicken



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Belonging, David really really really loves Patrick, Falling In Love, Fluff, Just pure sweetness, Love, M/M, Missing Scene, Patrick is happy, Post-Episode: s04e06 Open Mic, Post-Episode: s04e12 Singles Week, Romantic Fluff, Songfic, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, and really really really hates country music, being in love but not naming the feeling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:54:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25728511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therapychicken/pseuds/therapychicken
Summary: Arriving back at Patrick's after the open mic night, David is puttering around Patrick's room when he sees a list- and discovers the truth about Patrick's song choice.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 22
Kudos: 113





	New Life

David genuinely can’t remember when the last time was that he felt this way, and he’s starting to think that maybe it’s because he never actually _has_ felt this way before. 

After Patrick had played _the song_ , staring into David’s eyes as he did and methodically knocking down each and every one of David’s carefully constructed barriers, rebuilding something better from the rubble, he’d somehow managed to hold himself together for the rest of the show, even as it had felt like Patrick was talking to him, looking at him, every time he got on stage. (Which would have been better if it hadn’t essentially meant that Patrick was staring into his soul as he talked about Bob’s beat poetry being a conscious reaction to the work of Allen Ginsberg.) It hadn’t been until after the open mic night was over that they’d managed to really… react to the whole experience. Break the tension. Connect, if you will, right in the back room of the store. 

It had been great. Really, really great.

It had been so great, actually, that Patrick had been parked in front of the motel, dropping David off, in that same parking spot where they’d had their first kiss, and had told David in a rush to go inside and pack a bag and come stay with him for the night. So now here he is, changing into his pajamas in Patrick’s room at Ray’s as Patrick brushes his teeth down the hall, feeling kind of perfect. 

In the bunch of times he’s been here, David’s really worked hard not to focus on the decor and accoutrements of the room- Ray’s grandmother had apparently had a very clearly defined sense of style. But now he looks around, trying to look past all the ceramic cats and needlepoint cushions littering all of the flat surfaces in the room and searching for the things that might be actually Patrick’s. That might tell David more about this miracle of a man who somehow lo- li- _somethinged_ him enough to sing a song like that while staring into his eyes. 

There really isn’t much- Patrick doesn’t seem to be the kind to have packed up a bunch of photos and ornaments and arrayed them around his rented room. There are no… no sportsball trophies or family photos or gadgets, just the detritus of normal life, like a folder of store spreadsheets and a few sample bottles of air freshener that he was trying from a new vendor and a photo, unframed but propped against a truly nauseating teddy bear in Victorian era mourning dress, of David on the sales floor of the store on the day of the soft launch, his eyes lit up and mouth open, talking to a customer. It looks like it was taken from the cash register area, where Patrick had been stationed throughout that day, and it sends chills up David’s spine to realize that Patrick had not only been staring at him that day (which he'd known about, because he’d been staring right back), but had taken a photo, and printed it out, and _put it up in his room to look at_. 

Next to the photo is a page of printer paper that looks like a list, and David would have let his eyes skim over it if he hadn’t caught, written in large but neat and precise letters, the word “David.” David picks up the paper- his name is written next to the phrase “The Best,” which is circled a few times so firmly that David can feel the indentations on the other side of the sheet. What is this?

Above his name and the song title is a list, but David doesn’t get a chance to read it before he hears Patrick’s feet padding behind him, coming closer. He feels rather than sees Patrick brush a kiss to the back of his neck, feels the smile on his lips, and turns around, paper still in hand. Patrick notices it with a raised eyebrow and flushes faintly, but doesn’t say anything, just keeps smiling at him. 

“What is this?” David probably sounds a bit too accusatory, but Patrick just lets his smile grow. 

“This?” Patrick, still smiling, snags the paper delicately from David’s fingers. “This, David, is the list of songs I was considering for the open mic night until you convinced me to sing about you.”

David stares at him, hoping that he hasn’t just heard- “excuse you, I did no such thing, I had literally no desire for you to sing about me, just because it ended up being-” 

He stops, feeling like he’d been about to say too much, feeling exposed, but it’s only Patrick in front of him, the teasing glint still in his eyes but a warmth and fondness in them too, pinkness suffused over the tips of his ears. “Being what, David?” he asks sweetly. 

“Being- being really nice,” David replies, softly, more softly than he’d meant to and knowing that his eyes are saying things that he’d never told them to say, things he isn’t ready to say, out loud at least. Patrick melts, just melts, and brings his lips up to press gently against David’s as though magnetically drawn there. That’s more like it. 

Patrick draws away with a suctiony pop and David whines involuntarily as Patrick turns back to the sheet of paper. “So anyway, you’re right, no matter what I sang it would have been to you, in some way. But,” he says, the gooey warmth still on his face but joined more and more with laughter, “I wasn’t going to sing a love song directly and explicitly to you until you gave me the idea, so.” 

“You _weren’t_?”

“Don’t sound so upset about it, David, you sound as though you actually wanted me to!” Patrick is laughing now, a slow soft chuckle that feels sweet rather than mocking- though there is still some mocking in it, yes. “But you kind of jumped to the conclusion that I’d been planning on singing a love song, and I suddenly wished that I’d thought of that in the first place, so I did. It was just a matter of finding the right song.”

But that had only been yesterday. “Wait, that was yesterday,” David says slowly. Patrick couldn’t have- “If that was only yesterday, when did you adapt the song?”

Patrick flushes pinker and for the first time in the conversation his eyes can’t meet David’s for a second- he looks down at the floor as though abashed. Then he looks up at David with a grin. “Well, David, my nights are quite lonely when you aren’t here…” He waggles his eyebrows, and David snorts. “I did it last night. It took... a while. But I’ve always been pretty good at arranging for guitar and I was sufficiently motivated, you might say.” 

“So you, Patrick Buttoned-up Brewer, were awake until…” 

“Three AM.” Patrick is still flushed, and David cannot actually believe that Patrick sacrificed five hours of well-scheduled sleep to arrange a song that he hadn’t even been sure David would appreciate, just because it was David’s favorite, just to show how much he _somethinged_ him. “But it was fine. And, in hindsight, even if I’d sung-” Patrick makes a show of squinting at the list on the paper- “Hotel California, it would have been for you.”

David’s nose wrinkle is practically involuntary, but well deserved, he thinks. “Ew, how even,” he mutters. He snatches the list from Patrick’s hand over the sound of his “but classic rock, David!” and takes a glance. He doesn’t even recognize half the songs on it; they look like the kinds of songs that play on the local radio station that turns on automatically when David starts the Lincoln and he has to turn off in disgust. Probably Patrick wanted a few more… rustic melodies for the sake of the hicks. There are a couple of Beatles songs- Blackbird is a solid choice, though if Patrick had played I Want To Hold Your Hand in front of everyone while staring into his eyes David would have stomped right out of the store (it’s not on the list, but David can just imagine). 

At the bottom of the list is a song that seems written a bit more firmly than the rest, and it has a little tick next to it as though it’s the one Patrick had chosen in the end. David sees what it is and- he gasps a little, because now he’s imagining Patrick choosing it, carefully adapting it to guitar, singing the lyrics to himself as he rehearses, and then getting up at the open mic night, looking out into the crowd, looking _directly at David_ with happiness in his eyes as he begins to sing- 

He looks up from the paper and Patrick is looking at him quizzically, and David can’t do anything but kiss him, not after picturing that, not after picturing everything that that song would mean if Patrick sang it out loud. When they separate, and Patrick looks right at him, his eyes shining, David holds up the paper and points to the song and says, “thank you for singing to me, it was beautiful and I loved it, but next time- next time you should sing that. For you. I would love to watch you sing that for you.” 

And Patrick just looks at him, a pure joy and wonder in his eyes, as he nods silently and leans forward to kiss him again. 

**

It’s the last day of Singles Week, and capping off the evening, before everyone packs up their cars with a few extra phone numbers and a bit more emotional baggage, is the second semi-annual Rose Apothecary open mic night. David had agreed to allow it, though unsure why Alexis is so insistent that it’s a good idea to give a bunch of singles looking to impress each other the perfect venue to make fools out of themselves, because he’s kind of hoping to see some declaration of love through song like he himself had received. He knows now that that’s what it had been- love in Patrick’s eyes when he’d sang, love in his own eyes as he’d listened. David’s kind of love drunk right now, even if there’s still that part of him that’s cringing at the idea of a train wreck.

Patrick’s emceeing again, of course, and when he’d grabbed his guitar from the back room he’d swiped a quick kiss on David’s cheek and whispered, “you’re going to like the song.” David had just smiled as Patrick walked away quickly, making his way to the stage, not really thinking about what the song might be. Now, as he watches Patrick approaching the microphone, his mind drifts; maybe a Mariah Carey song after their conversation? 

But- 

Patrick is sitting down this time, lowering the microphone with a shriek of feedback, and he grins at the crowd and does his charming “how-are-you-doing” bit and then takes a glance over through the crowd, measuring, before his eyes land on David and he says, quietly, “I’ve been wanting to sing this one for a long time.” And David _gasps_ as he feels shivers, actual shivers, crawling up his spine, he remembers this, he knows what song this is and what it means to Patrick now- maybe even better than he had back then, now after Rachel and now that the undercurrent of “I-love-you” has finally been spoken. There are a few spare guitar chords resonating in the air and there’s a faint choking in David’s chest amid the dull thumping of his heart as he looks at Patrick and Patrick looks at him and sings- 

Birds flying high you know how I feel

Sun in the sky you know how I feel

Breeze driftin' on by you know how I feel

It's a new dawn

It's a new day

It's a new life for me yeah

It's a new dawn, it's a new day, it's a new life for me

And I'm feeling good

Fish in the sea, you know how I feel

River running free, you know how I feel

Blossom on the tree, you know how I feel

It's a new dawn

It's a new day

It's a new life

For me

And I'm feeling good

Dragonfly out in the sun you know what I mean, don't you know

Butterflies all havin' fun, you know what I mean

Sleep in peace when day is done, that's what I mean

And this old world, is a new world

And a bold world for me

Stars when you shine, you know how I feel

Scent of the pine, you know how I feel

Oh freedom is mine

And I know how I feel

It's a new dawn

It's a new day

It's a new life

For me

And I'm feeling

good

**Author's Note:**

> I never ever ever ever thought that I'd write a songfic, and this wasn't even meant to be a songfic at all when originally thought of- it was just supposed to be me writing down a headcanon I've always had, which is that Patrick had never planned to serenade him at the open mic but David gave him the idea accidentally by freaking out and he loved it and ran with it.
> 
> But then this song came up on my playlist and it just had to happen. Yes, I included all the lyrics, because I fucking love this song and all the words deserved to be here (and who wouldn't?). For anyone who has somehow gone through life without hearing Nina Simone's version of this legend of a song, here you go https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D5Y11hwjMNs
> 
> You know the drill- leave a comment to tell me what you think, and wear a mask and save lives!


End file.
